


Putain des Palaces

by cicak



Series: Perfume triptych [3]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Adultery, Bottom Hannibal, F/M, M/M, Mizumono Spoilers, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-29
Updated: 2014-07-29
Packaged: 2018-02-11 00:14:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2045628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cicak/pseuds/cicak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They are having an affair. He tells himself he won’t let it get in the way of the plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Putain des Palaces

Will had never enjoyed losing control. When he was incarcerated and forced to endure the indignity of being a caged animal in every sense of the world, he was denied both his freedom and also the little proxies for personal choice that is fundamental to the American social contract. It was suffocating to be powerless, all autonomy stripped away down to the confiscation of his shoelaces. He knew that he was framed like a painting made of Hannibal’s shadow, but the fact that for so long no one saw that he was dark at the edges in the way he never had been before. He felt like Hannibal’s scent was still all over him, as if he had never showered after their drunken menage a trios with Alana between them. As if he still had Hannibal’s semen dripping from his face for all to see.

 

Now he was free to rejoin society, Will realised he didn’t fit into the world the way he had before. He’d never been the best fit, but now he barely fit in the hole of his old house. His dogs were still missing, his bills unpaid, his job forfeit despite his proclaimed innocence. Of course, soon there was a plan, secretly sanctioned by the FBI and endorsed by Jack as the way to finally end the tyranny of the Chesapeake Ripper and free them all from Hannibal. Will felt himself sharpening at the edges, even less likely to fit safely into the soft flesh of society, And so while he was a man on a mission, this mission was now everything. It was his rehabilitation, his new purpose, all previous hopes and dreams now sacrificed to bring down Hannibal. He was paid out of a secret fund, but nothing more than expenses, there was nothing but slush running his life and through his veins.

 

He was to offer himself up as a sacrifice to Hannibal.

It seemed like the best idea at the time.

 

Prison had given him a muscle response to evil. Where his mind had previously been the tainted part of him, his body changed from a lack of any meaningful exercise and a diet of over salted prison food led him to feel the taint from his mind seep into his body, cross the blood-brain barrier and turn him acidic. His strength returned, but it wasn’t the wholesome strength of a man who ran with his dogs and cleared his land, but the strength of something else. A monster.

 

Will killed a man, butchered him, mounted him, and gave The Chesapeake Ripper everything he ever desired the moment he tried to take his life.

 

Hannibal Lecter is no two dimensional villain from a comic book. He is more than that, more than a horror from the deep or a biblical morality tale. He is in possession of demonic charm, something other-worldly and bizarre, but still at his heart he believes he is human, and for a while, Will forgot that he himself was as human as all of Hannibal’s victims.

 

But this is not where the affair started.

 

* * *

 

It started the morning after Will became a free man and made to have the first move advantage. His phone rang at the same time as his alarm began its first morning peak, dragging him from the slumber only found in a familiar bed after a long time away. It took him a few moments to jolt awake and for his brain to pick apart the sounds of what exactly was happening, and caught the handset before it rang off. In his ear, Hannibal was sleep-roughened and gruff as if he wasn’t the one instigating the call, and presented him with the flimsiest reason for Will to come over. It was barely even an excuse. A patient, a clue, something vaguely work related, but tenuous, as if the line was bugged. The subtext was what got through to him, and managed to propel him out of the warm, familiar womb of his bed had become.

 

He managed to drag himself into his work clothes, and reasoning that Hannibal always provided a breakfast better than most five star resorts, fed the dogs before jumping into the car. The traffic was light, and on arrival, he found a door just resting on its jamb, providing a glimpse of what was lying inside. He entered and hesitantly followed a trail of clothes snaking from a pair of wine glasses, one smudged with lipstick, the other perfectly drained so only a single drop of burgundy remained in the hand blown hollow of the glass. Will follows the clothes until they run out, and then completes the journey from memory.

 

When he pushes the door carefully open, Hannibal is lying in bed, looking for all intents and purposes asleep. He is also naked, the covers thrown off to expose his penis lolling half hard in the well tended garden of his pubic hair. When Will coughs, Hannibal opens his eyes and goes from asleep to seduction in the blink of an eye. He stretches so that he arches off the bed, and every sinew stretches along with Will’s self control.

Hannibal says “well?” in a low, quiet voice, and Will is out of his clothes before he even had time to think.

 

He climbs into bed and over Hannibal and is struck by it, the stale smell of sex and perfume. Male sweat and female fluids and something floral and chemical that made his eyes water.

Hannibal nuzzles his cheek and whispers “she just left” before he kisses him softly and coercively, a flutter of tongue that is exactly like that first kiss, so many months ago.

 

Will is so hard he struggles to get a full breath, meanwhile Hannibal is still on the edge of getting hard, when it finally clicks for Will that he is the second course of Hannibal’s morning delight. He growls, and kisses Hannibal hard enough to force the cartilage of his nose to the point of pain, so their incisors grind together briefly and his mouth is pushing hard enough to feel the slight cut of Hannibal’s sharp, predator canines.

 

They grind together, friction so nearly uncomfortable, and Hannibal holds his hands still by his sides and lets Will hold him down to get better leverage to fuck hard against his dick.

 

Will sits up and spots lube in the folds of the cotton satin sheets, near a smear of black eyeliner dislodged by sleep and sweat. He doesn’t hesitate in getting his fingers into Hannibal, going straight to two and pumping them, while with the other hand he throws the stained cover from the bed. The lube makes an obscene noise, as does Hannibal, who moans and rubs his head back and forth on the pillow like a harlot. His well seasoned blond hair is slicked back with sweat and at the height of his moans, Will takes his dick into his mouth and tastes Alana for the first time. The knowledge is almost enough to make him come right there.

 

He lubes up his own dick and shoves himself hard into Hannibal, grabs his hips in both hands and fucks hard. Hannibal’s legs come up around his ribs and squeeze, and god, the man has thighs of steel and Will feels his ribcage creak, making him feel on the edge of breathlessness. The feedback loop of pain and the lactic acid burn in his muscles spurs him on, and after what was probably only minutes of the brutal snap of Will’s hips and the alternate grind of Hannibal’s in return, Hannibal’s legs drop suddenly as if cut by strings, and Will pulls nearly all the way out, but obviously this is good for him, as Hannibal comes immediately without even a perfunctory pull the moment the plush head of Will’s dick catches and kisses hard against his prostate. The rippling, punishing tightness forces Will to hold still, and he stirs his hips because he’s a bastard, until Hannibal is nearly crying with the force of his orgasm. When the shocks subside, Will bends Hannibal in half, legs up and he is balls deep, punishingly hard, and the stale smell of flowers and semen follows him over the edge.

 

Will wants to run after. Instead though, he is gutted, butterflied, deveined. His body collapses onto Hannibal’s and they lie there for what feels like hours, until the sun is in their eyes and the smell of Alana’s perfume has been completely overwritten with the smell of themselves.

 

* * *

 

Will thinks for two days of nothing but that morning. He develops theories, scrawling timelines on paper to prove something, anything about Hannibal’s motives. He ponders that maybe their fuck was nothing more than a gift, a welcome back to the real world. The Hannibal for some reason knew that Will had wanted this so deep in his psyche that he never admitted it to himself. He developed theory after crazed theory: that it was to unsettle him, to keep him on the back foot, that it was nothing, that Hannibal knew something, that Hannibal knew every part of the plan, and then circling back to the thought that maybe, possibly, Hannibal honestly just wanted someone to fuck him through the mattress.

 

He turns up for their session at 7pm on Tuesday at the absolute second the big clock in the waiting room moves from 6:59, and ends up gibbering some shit about the world and everyone’s relative places in the universe while implying that Hannibal will eventually kill everyone given the chance, which Hannibal replies with inscrutable noncommittal poetry and after an hour Will ends up leaving as confused as he was when he arrived. They did not say anything about the Sunday night. Hannibal showed no indication that he had come untouched on Will’s cock. He didn’t move from his chair, so Will had no idea if he was limping. He was half-insane from trying not to think about it, from trying not to crawl across the carpet on hands and knees to pull Hannibal down for first, some answers.

 

But two nights later, he finds himself at Hannibal’s door like he is back to losing time, shifting from foot to foot and jamming his finger into the doorbell until the lights in the house come on like the curtain rising for the start of the show.

 

* * *

 

Hannibal loves to take it when they’re together. Will asked Hannibal if he wanted to fuck him, because Will did do that before, back in his previous life, but Hannibal just shot him a withering glance and shoved three fingers into himself as means of an answer.

 

Hannibal is lazy and conservative in his movements. He doesn’t thrash or do much else but fist his hands in the sheets and stretch his perfect throat up, face slack and mouth gaping in ecstasy. Meanwhile Will knows he is a whirlwind the moment he’s turned on. Once Will feels his dick begin to stir he cannot keep still, he wants to move, grab, take - his blood winding through his veins making him insolent and strange with desire. The times that Hannibal has sucked him off Will ended up half way off the bed, panting so hard his chest is heaving like the sea in a summer storm, head hanging low with his mouth pursed at a strange angle trying valiantly not the come. To come into Hannibal’s mouth is a pleasure that he cannot take too much of for fear of going mad. Even here, where Hannibal is for sure fucking him with his mouth, Hannibal still prefers to have the illusion of taking it, and by it he means the entire length of Will’s dick into wherever its being offered, let’s not beat about the bush, and while he helps to set the scene part of the thrill for him is that Will has to push has to take the step to take them into the fucking. This time, Will keeps it shallow (for however the trends in porn goes, gagging doesn’t do it for him) and feels the tight suction of Hannibal’s mouth and the press of his tongue against the underside of his cock. It is tender, without even a graze of teeth, which is good, because any hint of Hannibal’s real nature in bed would be not a turn on.

(this is a lie he tells himself he will believe eventually)

 

* * *

 

This is an affair. This isn’t part of the plan. This is unrelated to the plan. There are two Will Grahams at any one point, the dogged investigator who will do nothing to get his man, and the one who has his man bent over the furniture three times per week, pumping him for everything but information. The first Will Graham feels dirty, like a hotel-bar whore looking for a place to sleep tonight, wearing the red dress even though he doesn’t have to. He plans what he will say when Jack finds out. In no imagined scenario does Jack do anything but fire him, report him, arrest him or punch him, or likely all four at once. Yet despite this, he doesn’t stop. Its so ingrained in his approach now, that its impossible to stop. That he, the disgraced Will Graham,  will get both the Chesapeake Ripper and Hannibal Lecter or die trying.

 

Even though they are fucking, they’re still antagonists and their cheating is also mirrored in their rejection of the rules of engagement in their personal, brutal war. Hannibal sends Randall Tier to kill him in response to Will sending Matthew Brown. Will brings the body to Hannibal’s dining room, his inner sanctuary the way Hannibal violated Will’s innards with Abigail’s remains, and they reach an impasse. Both are aware that they are going to go as far as needs be, but they are even, for now committing perfectly symmetrical violence and they’ve both shown their hands, and so the plan starts to adapt. They start to discuss things in bed and start to fuck in therapy sessions. They kiss in the aftermath of dragging a man from the corpse of a horse. Will takes Hannibal in the back of his car while pulled over in the aftermath of Mason Verger’s destruction. Before Will even knows, he’s burning Hannibal’s patient records in the grand fireplace, and then fucking Hannibal in front of it on the rug he swears Hannibal must have laid out especially for the occasion. They make plans. They set a date. It is all part of the plan. Will tells himself that he always planned to betray Hannibal before the last moment.

 

* * *

Alana and he enter some kind of truce, but its impossible for him to be sane around her. They walk their dogs, Applesauce remembering her old playmates and galloping off as soon as she is let off the leash. Will and Alana walk, talking dangerously about nothing. He tries to be interested in what she has to say, but it is impossible. He ends up desperately trying to kiss her underneath the rotten apple tree in the far corner of his groups, trying to put as much of Hannibal into the kiss so that she will know the things he cannot say to her out loud. She pushes him away into the rough bark of the tree as the call of the dogs draws nearer.

He wishes she would just take from him what they never got before and right the world. This parallel dimension he is trapped in feels destined to collapse under the weight of its infernal paradox, and maybe Alana could be the kiss that saves him.

Instead she pushes him against the wall, and leaves without a word.

 

The universe continues to unravel.

 

* * *

 

Before they make their final move, Hannibal invites Will over for dinner like its the old days and climbs on his cock the moment the last mouthful is swallowed. Its short and brutal and completely unspoken.

Hannibal smiles at him after Will comes inside inside him, and leads him upstairs by the hand. He leads him into his closet, winks at him to acknowledge that irony, and closes the door nearly all the way. Then he disappears.

Will should let himself out and explore the house. He hears voices downstairs, and he knows this is an opportunity to discover something, anything, to help the plan. He could look in the seemingly endless locked rooms, the ones that sometimes lie ajar and sometimes sway in a breeze that could hold hastily hidden evidence or secrets worth exposing. Instead though, he stays in Hannibal’s closet surrounded by his clothes and his dark, comforting smell. He has the typical masculine scent of musk and leather, undercut with something spicy and evocative. It is like being trapped inside of a cocoon of secrets.

 

He hears footsteps followed by the sounds of sex. He hears Alana’s high groan, and the obscene sound of someone pumping their fingers into a wet orifice with intent. He hears Hannibal near scream, and knows that Alana has found the evidence Hannibal left for her. He hears her breathing hard, and then the sound of fucking, the creak of the bed, the rustle of bedclothes, the sheer exertion of two bodies throwing themselves into each other. He realises that he is gripping one of Hannibal’s ties in his left hand, his right on his cock and jerking himself hard in tandem with their thrusts. She comes once, and then again mere minutes later with something closer to a scream, and its that that brings him over the edge, his come caught in the heavy silk in his left hand wrapped around the head. He hears Hannibal have his orgasm drawn out of him, that beautiful shudder and vocalisation that signifies that he is finally satisfied.

 

He hears her hurriedly pull on her clothes and go, and lets himself out of the closet to look at Hannibal. He looks beautiful and so vulnerable that Will considers just doing it now, climbing onto him, kneeling onto his hands and pinning his chest down, and just leaning on his windpipe until it cracks. Or grabbing the heavy lamp, beating him in the head, ringing Jack, and closing the case.

 

He doesn’t. He gets into bed with Hannibal and allows himself to hold him close.

 

* * *

 

Its morning and they’re lying in bed together, for once their sex soft and slow. Hannibal is sore, and neither of them for once was full of voyeuristic lust or operating while driven mad by the scent of jealousy, but instead Will had walked through the door and kissed Hannibal softly, so soft, just a touch of lips and a plush, wet tongue savoring sweetly everything that makes up the day. In the cool light of the morning he takes Hannibal apart slowly, on fresh sheets in the light of the rising sun, lips following fingers as rays break through a crack in the curtains and cover them with golden light. It was still the kind of sex they thrived on, risky and primal, with someone contributing to the growing national scandal of noise pollution, where if they were in a lesser house there would be complaints, most notably the moment when Hannibal was so sensitive from ass worship he was half-sobbing through the netting of his crossed fingers, and then Will pressed in with the cool rush of lube and hands locked around his wrists so he had to look at Will, at his sweet smile and sharp eyes, and Hannibal screamed with pleasure.

But after, when they’d both come and the afterglow was its own reward, Hannibal asked Will the question.

“Would you like Alana to come with us?”

Will closed his eyes, went boneless and thought about it. Considered the options. They’d discussed what would happen when they made their escape, and honestly, Will knew that the answer was no, that he had that core male selfishness that he should be the only one Hannibal should love. But when your partner is incapable of love, the jealousy would be worthless, a fire in a sand pit, unable to spread its warmth. So maybe having Alana there, maybe she would remember how to fall in love with him, lead herself down the path she almost got herself lost down trying to find him. Maybe they’d find each other, and together make a happy ending. Maybe together with Hannibal they would be the perfect family. Maybe she would have their baby, and they’d never be entirely sure for several years who was the father. If Hannibal was the genetic father, Will would bring the gift of love, far better than any haploid he could give. Maybe they would live in places Will had only seen in films, the kind of wild, European wilderness where people never go, or the new world metropolises of South America, and the three of them would vanish, and maybe they’d be happy, for a while.

Until Hannibal killed them and ate them for forgetting to wash the dishes, of course.

“I don’t think she would want that” he said, finally.

“Alana never wants what she cannot have. If she knew that we wanted her to join us, if we sent for her, she would come. It would be impossible for her not to.”

“Then why have we not been together now? Every time I see her I can tell she knows we are together.”

“I haven’t wanted to share either of you. But if we were away from here, with new identities and new lives, perhaps, I could be persuaded to let you taste one another.”

His choice of language raised the hairs on Will’s neck. He felt compelled to imagine Alana’s lovely thighs on a plate while her blue eyes peered up from one of Hannibal’s extravagant centrepieces. He pulled the blanket over himself to hide his shudder of revulsion.

“Honestly, I don’t want to share you either. I’m a one person kind of guy”.

Hannibal grunts and rolls over, without replying.

When Hannibal’s breathing evens into the slow respiration of the sleeping, Will gets up and leaves. He doesn’t notice that he passes Alana’s car just two streets away from Hannibal’s house.

 

* * *

 

It is almost comical to the extent that the plan fails. Will ruins it when he loses his nerve at being a sole operator at the last moment, and for his efforts Hannibal guts him, finally penetrates him in a way they’ve never done, and brings himself so close to him but then doesn’t kiss him. He feels Hannibal tears hit his face at the same moment he slides the knife in and pulls across. Then an insult upon the injury, he sees Hannibal throw Abigail away like the unwanted present of a spoiled child. His rage is hurricane-wild and about as rational. Will lies in a pool of blood of unknown provenance strokes Abigail’s face, a heart in his chest where a hole used to be as he feels her life flutter out into the atmosphere.

As he holds his guts inside himself and slips into an unconscious mess, he swears he can smell the thunderstorm that was brewing finally crack, rumble, and break, and the smell of leather as Hannibal steps over him.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> The perfume of this chapter is Etat Libre d’Orange’s Putain des Palaces, completing the trio of perfumes in the series (Tauer’s L’air du desert marocain for Hannibal, Guerlain’s Mitsuoko for Alana and the above for Will). The final line is a reference to the named perfume in the series, Bolt of Lightning by JAR.
> 
> [cicaklah.tumblr.com](http://cicaklah.tumblr.com)


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